Zenna Vortex: Lark: A Morning Song
by LA Knight
Summary: Lark Nightsong has a special gift of music and comfort and a connection to Nature. But Lark's song calls to a darker heart than she's ever known before. OC and ?
1. Death

**A/N: **each chapter is two or more drabbles (a ficlet of 100 words or less) from each different point of view. It was a style I developed from reading an author of LotR fanfics.

Enjoy the story. Reviews are much appreciated- this is a new style I'm working with.

**Morning Song**

**CHAPTER ONE: DEATH**

**--Lark--**

Death.

Like the stench of smoke, ash, and smoldering humus, the stink of death scorched the inside of Lark's nose. The cries of wounded animals inside their dens tugged at her heart.

"I hear you all," Lark crooned softly. "I hear you. I'm sorry. I can only give you comfort, as Mother Earth taught."

She lifted her wooden flute to her lips, breathing a soft breath into it. Music, wood song, witch song, filled the air, filled the night, mingling with the smoke. The animals heard her song, and knew a measure of peace.

The demon heard her song, too.

**--Pollution--**

The woods burned like hellish flames. The forest screamed in pain.

He wondered: could that nature loving cow or those planet punks feel the earth screaming? Could that goody-goody Captain hear the agonized cries of the dying forest?

He smiled, savoring the pain and destruction, and the first note caressed his ears.

Acid rain, toxic sludge, smog. The beauty of all these things was wrapped up in soft, sweet music. He knew, somehow, that anyone hearing that song would remember whatever made his blood run hot and his eyes gleam.

Somewhere down there, someone played his passions on the wind.

--

so what do you think?


	2. Dirge

**CHAPTER TWO: DIRGE**

**--Pollution--**

The song burned under his skin, iridescent melodic flames kissing his flesh, coursing through his veins. The acidic winds of that flute made his body shiver with anticipation.

He scanned the barren fields of blackened trees and silken gray ash for the source of that sweetly poisonous music. Somewhere, it beckoned, calling to him, a siren song promising exactly what he wanted, everything and anything and all that he could ever dream.

There! He saw the dark figure of a human kneeling among the ashes. Running a hand through his flame-orange hair, he grinned, and came in for a landing.

**--Lark--**

Dirge.

She played the sorrow song, mourning the land.

On the wind came the scent of death and pain, the pain inflicted and the pain that scarred the soul.

A man was coming to her now, his pain humming inside her head, just as desperate and hurting as the animals now in agony.

She turned as he touched down to earth, his glowing demon eyes fixed on her as she lowered the flute. Unflinchingly, she met his gaze, seeing for just a moment a flash of soul agony before the arrogant mask slipped into place again.

"You," he whispered.

"Me."


	3. Identity

**CHAPTER THREE: IDENTITY**

**--Lark--**

Flames.

Everything about him spoke of fire: his toxic orange hair, sulfuric yellow skin that gleamed sickly in the moonlight, the crimson of his clothes. He stepped towards her, and her heart began hammering in her chest.

She lowered the flute, and the music faded. The numbing soporific of the melody still held sway over the animals in pain, giving them relief from the throbbing of their burns.

"Who are you?" He whispered.

"Lark Nightsong."

I am the healer, she thought, the wind-whisperer, the witch of air... a Daughter of Gaia.

But she knew never to tell a stranger that.

**--Pollution--**

"Lark Nightsong."

What a name. That was an eco-punk name, sure thing. How could someone making such toxic music have a name like that?

"Who are you?" She murmured. He tasted poison gas and death on her voice. It seared him to the bone in just the right way that he almost turned to sludge.

"Well, babe... I was just passin' through, heard your tunes, wondered who was jammin' like that."

She blinked her grey eyes, silver-sweet in the light of the moon, and asked, "Would you like to hear more?"

"Sure."

And he sat down to hear her play.


End file.
